Safety
by Indigo X
Summary: The night of the infamous Heidenriech incident, Michael Cole just seems to want to be alone... or does he? (ColeTazz) (Slash warning, but no real naughtiness- PG-13 for mm slash and brief nudity.)


Safety  
the one and only slashfic that will ever be written by  
Indigo X

Author Notes: Well, here. I did it. I finally did it. And I don't think I'll ever do it again. Indy slashfic. Enjoy... oh, yeah. This takes place the night of the Heidenriech incident... y'know, the one where he kinda kidnapped Michael Cole and... did stuff. Ambiguous stuff. And poetry. But... yeah. Nobody in this story is mine. Onward.

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Tazz couldn't remember ever riding in such a quiet car.

The silence made him fidget slightly, and he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and gnawed at his lip, casting a glance every so often to the passenger seat. Nope. Cole hadn't really moved or made a sound since he got in, not a word or even a whimper. He just pulled his knees to his chest, heels resting on the edge of the seat, curled into a little journalist ball. Kinda like a hamster or something, Tazz thought.

He sighed. Usually, the ride to the hotel was filled with joking between them, teasing. Chatter, discussion of the night's events as well as the night's events yet to come. Even if the show had ended on an uneasy note, like the time Kurt Angle had been thrown from the ledge, the two talked about it, or something else to get their minds off it. This time, it wouldn't be so easy. After all, bad things happened, but being announcers, the bad things rarely happened to them personally.

Tonight, that obviously hadn't been the case. Tazz was worried, and worried sick. He had to have asked his partner fifty times if he was alright, but Cole was tight-lipped, dodging the subject every way he could. He didn't want to talk about it, he just wanted to forget it outright. And until he succeeded in doing so, he didn't want to hear or say a word about it. Tazz knew better- from his own experience, he knew such bottling-up could only make things worse. Sliding to a halt for a stoplight, the Brooklyn tough flicked his tangerine lens shaded chocolate-kiss eyes to the skinny young man beside him, and reached over to give his shoulder a comforting squeeze. Cole shirked back.

"Don't."

Tazz held a hand up defensively. "Geez, man, sorry... I was just tryin' ta..."

"I know. And I appreciate it. Just... don't right now, okay? Don't touch me. Not until I get this... this thing sorted out in my head... t-till I get it taken care of. Please?" Michael Cole peeped his head up a bit, his own brown eyes lightly bloodshot, hollow and splintered.

A sigh from the Red Hook native. "Aw, fine... okay. If that's what y'need, I'll keep my damn hands to myself." He snickered a little as he pulled into the Holiday Inn parking lot. Uncurling himself, Cole lightly slid out of the vehicle and grabbed his bags, sped up to their room, and immediately shut himself in the bathroom. It wasn't long at all before Tazz heard the shower running full blast.

Tazz really wished that Cole wouldn't be such a timid little mouse. Granted, it was a horrible situation the journalist had been in, but still... to be so hurt and afraid that he wouldn't even let his partner help him? But then, he thought with a light grin, if he wasn't meek and mild, yet still possessing the quick wit and the hidden inner fortitude that Tazz just knew was there... if he wasn't at least a little soft and needing of protection, then he just wouldn't be the Michael Cole he loved so much.

About forty-five minutes later, Tazz frowned. The water was still running hard as ever, and he could hear no other sound coming from the bathroom. The ex-ECW warrior's brow furrowed in concern... what was up? Rolling off the bed with a soft grunt, Tazz walked to the bathroom door and turned the knob, pushing his hefty shoulder into it just in case it was locked. The door opened, sending out a cloud of white steam, and Tazz made his way through this to the curtained off shower. "Cole..." His heart thumping in his chest, Tazz pulled the curtain back.

Michael Cole was sitting in the tub as water just cooler than scalding rushed over him, his pale skin made bright pink from the heat. Just as in the car, his knees were pulled up to his chest, his skinny arms wrapped 'round his legs, but this time, his shoulders heaved and shook with nigh-inconsolable sobs. Streams of tears as warm and steady as the shower water fell from his large, dark eyes.

"Hey... aw, hey, Cole, don't cry... don't cry..." Winding the hot cascade of water off, Tazz carefully wrapped his arms around the younger man, not much caring whether his shirt got wet or not. Whimpering slightly, Cole leaned his face into Tazz's big shoulder and continued to weep, comforted a bit by the feel of big, strong fingers combing softly through his wet hair, lips grazing gently against his ear as his partner softly murmured consolations. After he'd calmed down some, Cole felt a big, soft towel being wrapped around him, and then he felt himself lifted up out of the wet tub into the arms he trusted more than any others.

Tazz carried Cole out to the main room, where he helped the journalist into his white and pale-blue flannel pajamas, tenderly toweled his hair dry, combed it, and tucked the thinner man gently into bed- before swiping a blanket for his own, turning off the lights, and rolling up in it, burrito-like, on the floor.

Silence once more reigned. Well... for a minute, anyway.

"Hey, Tazz?"

"Yeah?"

"Um... what're you doing down there?"

"Givin' you space, y'know... y'said you wanted it."

Another pause, though not quite so long or heavy.

"...I changed my mind. Could you... could you come up here?"

"'Kay, sure. Jus' a minute here..." Tazz untangled himself from the blanket with a mild amount of difficulty, got to his feet, and slid into bed, gently curling big, strong arms around the journalist from behind.

Cole leaned back against him, smiling softly. Yes, it was alright. He wasn't afraid here, the terror of the Heidenriech incident couldn't touch him now. The touch against his cheek, the arms that held him, they weren't rough, weren't almost designed to terrify. The feeling was warm. Safe. Carefully, he rolled over, tucking his own thin, white arms around the hefty self-proclaimed thug. "Hey... Tazz?"

"Yeah?"

He snuggled just a little closer. "I love you."

Tazz chuckled, and planted a kiss on Cole's forehead. "I love ya, too. Now go t' sleep, it's gettin' late. Time for all good skinny lil' journalist types to snooze."

"'Kay." Cole yawned sleepily, and closed his eyes. "Goodnight, Pete."

"G'night, Mike."


End file.
